


Loneliness

by behzaintfunny



Series: Land of Snow and Sorrow [3]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Cannibalistic Thoughts, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, Missing Scene, Past Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts, i wrote this in one sitting and regret nothing, if slight cannibalism were a tag i'd tag it that, only god can judge me, this seriously has no right to exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behzaintfunny/pseuds/behzaintfunny
Summary: In the cold of night, Silva and Villa watch the northern lights.
Relationships: David Silva/David Villa
Series: Land of Snow and Sorrow [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1279268
Kudos: 2





	Loneliness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunasenzanotte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/gifts).



> This work is set directly in my other fic, "Lost at Sea", without which it doesn't make much sense...any sense. Anyway, it's the year of our lord 2020, and I'm pretty sure I'm done with the Football RPF part of life, but I am apparently not done with torturing my Silva. I love him so much. Gifting this to Maria not only because if not for her, this verse would have never been written, but also because it's good-old angst like we know and love. I hope it meets your expectations and that somehow you're not exhausted of these two. (Because apparently I am not!)
> 
> Heed the warnings, and enjoy the angst.

The sky is painted in a million different colours, each more magical than the other, pulling at the very core of Silva's heart where he lay on the cold beach.

His grip on Villa's hand tightens instinctively, still on the side of cautious, still deadly afraid of what would happen if he'd let go. His spine feels rigid at the very center of his being, his legs almost as heavy and rotten as Villa's own when he attempts to manouever them. There is a pang in his stomach so terrible he fights with all his self to ignore.

When he closes his eyes and lets himself hope, it almost feels familiar. It almost feels normal.

The sky becomes instead the yellow hue draped over the hills of Andalusia, the great expanse where not a single cloud may be, a picturesque thing of beauty that kissed little freckles onto his cheeks. The world doesn't smell like the pang of salt and blood, but like poppies, his mother's favourite flower she would grow in her garden relentlessly until convinced it were indeed more useful to grow tomatoes instead. Hers was the colour red and great was Silva's love for her, but her face continues to be a mystery to Silva, who fights and struggles to remember the green walls of his childhood home so.

There are times, in turn, when he forgets his Christian name altogether.

It had been centuries since he had last been called it, surely. No one ever called him that. Villa, sometimes, when the ocassion called for it, but the opportunity always evaded Silva, no matter the circumstances.

The very few letters Villa sent him from his voyages overseas had always begun with _Sweet David_ , but there is nothing sweet about the memory as it gnaws away at the very core of his being.

He draws tentative circles on the black sand beside him to distract himself from the thunderous pounding of waves, calmer today than most other days, but ringing in his ears just the same. Circle after circle, he feels as though he is drifting ever closer to the other side of the sea, the one journey he never followed Villa on.

His hand flinches away from the cold sand as though it had indeed burned him.

Instead, he finds Villa.

Silva's eyes flutter away to watch as his cheeks become hollow, deprived of the colour he remembers so fondly. When he caresses the underside of his jaw, trying his hardest to ignore the mud and blood as they paint his cold skin, he finds it doesn't feel different altogether from how he remembers it.

The most unbearable thing of all is Villa's silence.

He had always been a man of few words, Villa has, but Silva finds himself missing those above all else. He struggles to remember the sound of his voice amidst the eerie music of the sea, fails to remember the sound of his name as it fell off his lips, the noise that died at the back of his throat as he came undone.

Silva's head falls to lie beside Villa's, ashamed to look him in the eye, instead focusing idly on the low of his throat, still as a statue made of stone.

He wishes he could tell him his heart's greatest worries, come true about everything that bothers him so, but he doesn't find the energy to portray his thoughts into words much these days. He is perhaps doomed to never speak again, and never be listened to, his curse for not being frank enough with his words.

Then, there are the nights where speaking is just about the only thing his mind is capable of. Not movement, not breathing any more than strictly necessary to survive, but talking.

During those nights, ones he would find himself forgetting about come morning more often than not, his throat burns with the power of his wailing. A part of him feels terrible for feeling resentful towards Villa, but it is there nonetheless - anger such like he has never experienced before, causing him to think unthinkable things, speak unspeakable things, and, most terribly, do all which no one sane would dare do.

Perhaps his sanity did die with Villa. He wouldn't be altogether surprised if that was indeed what Villa brought of him to the other side, to remember him by, and to make him never forget about him in turn.

As if that could ever happen, he thinks coldly. Though his fingers feel as though they will individually snap in a manner of seconds, it only causes him to hold Villa's hand more eagerly, for what is there for him if not this.

The green and blue hues painting the great night sky above them kiss Villa in the most gentle of tones, annunciating all that is deceased and all which Silva loves most dearly.

When he blinks, Silva finds it makes Villa's lips the slightest bit more red, as if there were indeed blood pumping into them, warm as he remembers them.

That's indeed part of the reason why Silva doesn't blink much, instead focusing his gaze on Villa's skin, ever changing from tan to cold to grey.

"You incredible bastard," he whispers into the low of his neck, fighting the urge to unsheath his teeth just a little bit forward, "I wonder if you even know what kind of hell you left me in."

The sea answers him, as it always does, elusive and bitter as it may be. Silva bites down a groan, for elusive is just about the last thing Villa is, as if the sea didn't understand him at all after all these years. Not the way Silva understood Villa, not the way he understands him now.

He's seen and felt the very depths of his body, where his heart used to beat. He figures, that's just about as intimately as a person can know one another.

He struggles to remember what Villa's hands feel like as they traverse down his body, not daring to force him to do so, instead holding onto those very few memories as they haunt him in his sleep. It's not pleasure they bring but shame, terrible, incredible shame, such that makes him wish he truly were strong enough to walk into the depths of the sea and never come back.

The more rational part of his brain knows these are just illusions meant to cause him sheer, unadulterated pain, and nothing more. He cranes his neck to instead watch Villa's face, every crevice he managed to memorize a tenfold, and, to his mind's horror, it is not love that he feels seeping deep down inside his stomach.

He bites down on his lip with the sheer power of it, the hatred he feels towards himself.

His body knows naught of Villa's touch, only the taste of his blood. Such closure he never hoped for or imagined, now the essential pillar of his survival.

It doesn't make him feel less terrible for doing it. Not as Villa becomes less and less himself by the minute, not when his chest isn't soft and pliant but instead seeping wet and red.

If he could run, he would. If he could repent, God knows, he would try.

He can't, so he succumbs to sin unlike anything he's known before, in waves of self-hatred followed by pure, primitive relief.

The sky doesn't know the extent of his sin. Silva figures that's the only reason the perfect myriad of colours even graces them.

He is drawn to Villa, like the moon is drawn to the sun. It burns when he touches him, but the pain is even greater when he doesn't. The distance between them is great enough as it is, and adding to it is just about the last thing Silva wishes to do.

His leg wounds around Villa's thighs, with terrible strain as the muscles seek to remember what it's like to function properly, malnourished and on the verge of dying. He's shivering all over, trembling, from the cold and the numbness alike. He watches Villa with glee, wishing instead it were him that was succumbed to never see the light of day again, and not Villa.

He cannot even begin to think what kinds of emotions would go through Villa's head if ever he set eyes upon such magnificent beauty.

The thought brings fresh waves of pain with it, straining his already weak head, as he beats a pathetic fist against Villa's hip. There were times when he'd be scared to break him, to watch everything he knows go to waste, but he cannot bring himself to care anymore. He already exerted such wrath upon Villa's decaying corpse that nothing he can do truly means anything anymore.

Silva huddles even closer then, imagining the warmth seeping from Villa's body. He watches the perfectly green sky on a canvas of midnight black and tries to ignore the stench as it hits his nostrils, the pain as it pulsates everywhere within his body, and the desperate urge to go home, wherever that may be.

He wonders, in spite of himself, whether the same sky can be seen from his home. He figures not, for as much as this may be hell on Earth, he doubts there are other places in this world that experience such pain, and such intense cold.

"Open your eyes, captain." he whispers, the voice hollow as it reverberates amid the waves, "Look. It appears we've reached the end of our journey."

Silva doesn't know how come he is still able to cry, only idly notes the tears as they fall down his cheeks like frostbite.

"Don't be scared." he tells himself, or the night, or Villa beside him, swallowing down his cries as much as he can muster, "They can't get you here when I'm with you. No one's gonna hurt us."

There's a simple truth in that, one that Silva holds onto just as ferociously as he holds onto Villa, until the bitter end. He watches the northern lights as they dance around the night sky, but it compares naught to the beauty he sees in Villa, after all this time.

"Look how beautiful they are for you." he tells Villa, hiding his face in his shoulder once it all becomes too much, "Do you feel it? Please, tell me you feel it. Tell me anything, anything at all, anything that will fucking keep me from ending it all."

His only response is the empty call of the sea, taunting him like a dog on a leash, making his ears ring with the extent of his anger as it boils within his veins.

"Talk to me!" he screams, body trembling with the force of it, sobbing earnestly into the dirty sleeve of Villa's shirt, "I'm not fucking dead yet! You can't leave me!"

Silva pulls at Villa's side, feeling the skin as it opens up underneath his nails, bringing with it a fresher wave of grime. He muffles another scream into Villa's shoulder, kicking his feet into the cold water as it reaches his frostbitten toes.

"I need you, you fucking bastard." he cries against his skin, feeling his body go slack with the strain of his emotions, "Now more than ever, alright? I need you to save me."

He exhales his exhaustion into Villa's skin, feeling as his teeth catch on the side of his neck, where the skin was once so soft and supple, now only cold and bitter.

He bites down.

Immediately, his mind fills with a thousand different warning signs, his nails catching at Villa's skin, trying to pull him away or bring him closer. He feels sick with every grind of his teeth, pressing his forehead into the cold sand where Villa cannot see him. He swallows it all down his throat, small as it may be, before he can spit it out instead.

Reluctantly, his eyes meet Villa's neck where a little but very clear chunk of his skin is missing. He touches the raw meat with his lips, exhaling shakily as another wave of tears runs down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." he mumbles into the skin on Villa's temples, shutting his eyes close before cupping Villa's cheek with his free hand, "You have to forgive me. There's no other way."

He kisses the wound like he would kiss Villa, hesitant as if he were young and careless anew. His hand caresses Villa's cheek with reverence, hoping that if by some terrible chance Villa could see him, he would be able to forgive him.

A low chuckle falls out of Silva's lips. He thinks, forgiveness is just about the last thing he can ask from Villa.

His head aches with the memory of times long gone, or another twisted creation of his tired mind, he cannot tell. In it, Villa takes him aboard his ship for the first time, hand in hand, with such pride glimmering in his eyes he wouldn't dare deem possible. His hand is warm, so impeccably warm, and the salty tang of the sea fills him not with sorrow but with excitement.

What a foreign emotion that is.

"I wonder what you think of me, sometimes." Silva says, more quietly than before, resigning to calmness and sinking to the ground beside him as energy escapes his body, "I don't like to. It makes me feel even more terrible about everything than I already do. Sometimes, I hope you don't see me. What has become of me. Maybe that would be better for the both of us, if you only remember me for what I was."

That person feels scarcely like himself at all, less and less so with each passing day. He recalls a head of brown locks and a smile to die for, a mouth that could never shut up and a mind full of most curious ideas. His brow furrows upon the recollection, and his muscles tense even further, for it feels wrong to even invite this person into this place.

The snow begins to fall from the grand, marvelous sky, feeling as if it should be cold but it instead burns his skin with terrible passion. He reaches around Villa with one arm, attempting to shield him away from the incessant bite of snow.

"I still love you, you know?" Silva tells him, feeling dizzy with exhaustion, afraid he would lose awareness at any given moment, "I never stopped. I loved you then and I love you now, and I will love you any way I can have you. You're killing me, Villa. I don't know who I am anymore and it fucking terrifies me. I want you, no, I _need you_ to tell me we'll be alright."

He cries his sorrow into Villa's skin, imagining a world where he could hear his voice again, if only once. Perhaps he doesn't deserve it for all he's done, but surely even sinners deserve a chance at redemption.

He doesn't want redemption, he thinks, only for everything to be normal again. It's so stupid it feels wrong to even think of, but there it is, the thought as it latches itself onto the back of his mind.

He's hardly even cold anymore. Being alone in all of this is what hurts the most.

In the corner of his eye, millions of colorful rays paint the night sky, but it is Villa that captures his full attention. Silva holds him tight and closes his eyes to the sight of him, more beautiful than all the stars in the skies, and just as distant.

**Author's Note:**

> _"It's quite beautiful in here actually, Fernando. Could you believe?" Silva says, a hint of a smile gracing his face, "The other day, we watched rays of a million colours dance throughout the sky. It was unlike anything I have ever seen. The sky was so green that not even the stars could compare... He looked so calm... He must have felt it..."_
> 
> _Fernando smiles gently, "The northern lights, David."_
> 
> _"Yes," Silva whispers, mind already seemingly far away from there and now, "He always did love the sky. And now he is part of it."_


End file.
